


Another Hospital's Roof

by JennLynn77



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Fluff, John Watson's potty mouth, Johnlock Roulette, M/M, Peril, Post-Season/Series 04, Smooching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-25 06:16:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10758441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JennLynn77/pseuds/JennLynn77
Summary: "Give me your hand." John tried to keep the panic from his voice. Tried to make it seem like he wasn't about to lose him again.Sherlock looked down at the pavement below his swinging legs and shook his head. He lifted his head to look at John and saw the fear he was attempting to disguise, his dark blue eyes wide. Another hospital roof. How boring.





	Another Hospital's Roof

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first foray into the Sherlock fandom. I haven't written any fanfic for almost 10 years, and that was for the House M.D. fandom.
> 
> I'm American, so if I Americanised this too much, please let me know, and I'll make necessary corrections. Also, non-betaed, so all mistakes are my own. 
> 
> If you like this, please hit the Kudos button. If you really like this, let me know in the comments! :)

"Give me your hand." John tried to keep the panic from his voice. Tried to make it seem like he wasn't about to lose him again.

Sherlock looked down at the pavement below his swinging legs and shook his head. He lifted his head to look at John and saw the fear he was attempting to disguise, his dark blue eyes wide. Another hospital roof. How boring.

Sherlock bit his lip. "No."

John cocked his head to the left. "Sherlock, I mean it. You need to give me your other hand. I don't think I can hold you much longer."

As misfortune would have it, Sherlock was being held by John's left hand, the one attached to the arm of the shoulder that was ruined by war. John was grasping the cuff of Sherlock's great coat, and a small portion of his right wrist. He slipped his thumb a little lower on John's wrist. He was able to feel the hummingbird flutters of John's pulse. Saying what needed to be said was not going to be easy.

"John, I need you to let go of me." He said it so calmly, like he was telling John he needed him to pass him the milk for his tea. John inhaled sharply, nose wrinkling, eyebrow crinkling. His rage sniff, as Sherlock had fondly nicknamed it. He would smile if he wasn't sure he'd begin to cry.

"What exactly are you trying to do here? Martyr yourself again? Do you want me to have to look at Rosie, OUR DAUGHTER, and tell her that you won't be coming home anymore? Christ, Sherlock! I can't watch you fall off the side of a building again, not when I can try to prevent it from happening!"

Sherlock could see John's compact frame slide a little closer to the edge of the roof as he clung to Sherlock's thin wrist. Sherlock was six inches taller and outweighed him by a stone and a half. John's left hip and right knee were braced against the raised edge of the roof, the only things aiding this attempted rescue.

Sherlock had lost his right shoe in a scuffle with their latest suspect on a staircase that led to this roof. They had scrapped here as John waited for a  
moment to intervene. They tumbled to the ground and rolled towards the edge of the roof, Sherlock losing his grip on the man and slid over the side with him. He threw out his right arm and it caught him for a moment. As his fingers began to lose their grip, John dropped his pistol and slid across the gravel rooftop and reached for Sherlock, barely getting a hold of his sleeve and wrist before it was too late. So, here he was, hanging from the roof of The Royal London Hospital, with only one shoe. His left leg was too far away from the nearest window sill, and his right foot kept sliding off its edge. 

Many scenarios played through Sherlock's head, as they were wont to do. John telling Rosie that Papa wouldn't be coming home anymore. She was only three; how does one explain that to so small a child? John holding Rosie's and Mrs. Hudson's hands while standing in front of another headstone engraved with his name. John, alone in their flat, pretending to be all right for everyone's sake, but unscrewing the cap from a whiskey bottle while everyone else in London was asleep. Sitting in his red chair across from Sherlock's, and seeing his ghost as he drank himself slowly to death.

"John, I need you to let go. You're sliding closer towards the edge with every second you hold on to me. I need you to be able to go home tonight and take care of Rosie. Your girl can't lose the both of us." 

For a situation as dire as this, Sherlock's voice was remarkably even. John's, however, was most certainly not.

"OUR girl, you arsehole! I am no good at this Dad thing without you. She needs both of us. BOTH! I would rather go over with you than live a life without you. I tried that once, and I was a walking corpse for two years. I don't want Rosie to ever see me like that. So, I suggest you swing the left side of your body towards me so I can grab your other wrist, and then put your bony left foot on that ledge and get the fuck up here with me!"

Sherlock closed his eyes and gripped John's wrist as tightly as his sweat-dampened palm would allow. He inhaled slowly and locked eyes with John.

Exhale. "I love you, John. Count of three, then."

"Tell me that when you are up here with me, you idiot! Hurry up!"

They counted together. "One. Two. Three."

Sherlock managed to swing himself towards John. John leaned a bit further and was able to grasp the cuff of Sherlock's left sleeve.

"Sherlock, don't make me watch this again. Get your God damned foot on that sill and help me!"

Sherlock leaned back as far as John's reach would let him, and he stretched his long leg towards the sill, the sole of his left shoe making contact. He pressed his toes down and grasped for purchase. 

"OW SHIT!" John yelled as he slid forward a bit further. Sherlock glanced up at the pained expression on John's face. He could feel John's left arm and shoulder tensing from Sherlock's weight. 

"Sherlock, if you don't get your foot on that window sill RIGHT NOW, I will throw you off of here myself! Pretend that ledge is our life. Together. With Rosie.  
Reach for us. We need you." 

Sherlock wiggled his toes in his shoe and managed to get a better foothold on the sill. He glanced up at John and saw resigned relief flash quickly across his face.

"Okay. Get your footing and lean towards me." Sherlock did as he was told, and scrambled for balance. He was able to reunite his feet on the sill. A bit wobbly, but steadier than before. John's shoulders were now over the side, but his knees were solid against the rim of the roof. 

"Now let me grab under your shoulder and pull you up here. Push off with your toes!"

John let go of Sherlock's right wrist and got his left elbow under Sherlock's right shoulder and leaned back as Sherlock pressed forward. Adrenaline and sheer will propelled Sherlock back onto that roof. He landed with a thud on top of his husband. Their frantic, panted breaths ghosting over the others' faces. Sherlock bent his head forward and rested it on John's clavicle. He placed his right palm on John's chest, over his racing heart. 

They lie there together for a few moments, John reveling in the warmth and weight of Sherlock on his body. He brings his tired arms to twine behind Sherlock's back and squeezes. So close. So close to losing him again. He presses his eyes shut, feeling hot wetness threatening to escape. He loosens his arms and begins to run his hands up and down Sherlock's back.

"I can't believe you wanted me to let go of you. I told you, NEVER AGAIN, Sherlock. We will never be apart again."

"Never? What if I have to use the loo?" 

This was not the time for levity. One of John's hands stopped it's ministrations on Sherlock's back and settled at the nape of his neck instead. John grabbed a few inky black curls and gently pulled his head from his chest.

"We discussed this, Sherlock. Your words, 'The two of us against the rest of the world.' It's both of us or neither of us. Mind you, I would always prefer it to be neither, but you keep doing such cracked, reckless things. And what is your fascination with altercations on rooftops?"

A low laugh rumbled from Sherlock. "I can't control the actions of others, John. As much as you and the whole of London seem to think, I am not infallible. I did not believe the suspect would continue UP the steps once he broke free from my grasp. That was an improbable event to foresee."

John raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. "You're not infallible? I wish someone else was up here to hear you say that."

"I don't." Sherlock said, as he leaned down and pressed his lips to his husbands'. A small gasp came from them both at the same time, the realization of what had just happened finally penetrating them. John placed both hands in Sherlock's hair, pulling him closer. Sherlock removed his hand from John's chest and placed both arms on the graveled rooftop astride John's head, hands circling the crown of it and entwining together in the soft, grey hair. They lie there together, kissing lazily until John shuffles a bit beneath Sherlock.

"This is starting to feel a little too much like a scene from a movie, Sherlock. Get up! You're heavy and the gravel is pushing into my back." 

Sherlock uses his hands to push up to a sitting position, legs aside John's hips. He leans to his right knee, then stands up, and dusts off his pants. He reaches down to John, platinum band catching the moonlight. John reaches up with the hand wearing a matching band, and clasps it around his husband's hand and lets Sherlock pull him to his feet.

"I really need to find my other shoe."

"Since Mycroft gave us this case, I think he can buy you a new pair of shoes, Sherlock."

Sherlock chuckled as he shook his head. "Oh. I almost forgot. You wanted me to say something to you when I got back up here."

"I was wondering if you'd remember."

Sherlock reached for John's left hand and gently kissed the band on his ring finger. "I love you, John." 

"Good to know. Now don't ever be such an imbecile again. AND STAY OFF OF ROOFTOPS. Unless you're with me. The TWO of us against the rest of the world, remember?"

"Don't ever let me forget that, John."

"Not on our life."

**Author's Note:**

> If you got down here, I hope you liked this fic! Let me know if you did! :)


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